My girlfriend and I went to an adult Easter egg hunt—kind of like an adult coloring book, but without the need for a smock. So why I wore one is anybody’s guess. Maybe I thought it was an egg-cellent opportunity to debut my latest avant-garde look: Postmodern Jackson Pollock Chic. Boy, did people smock me for that fashion choice. I always say, you can never be too careful. You never know when you might have some egg on your face — you know, in the “made a fool of yourself” kind of way. Although, considering I was the one wearing a smock to an Easter egg hunt, I might’ve beaten the eggs to it. And it’s not like a smock does much to protect your face anyway.
The Easter egg hunt took place on a golf course. I’ve heard of Cadbury, but never Caddy-bury Creme Eggs. I guess it makes sense to have an Easter egg hunt on a golf course, considering there’s always plenty of “birdies” there. Unfortunately, one of those birdies wasn’t satisfied with the golf-themed pun. When I reached for what I thought was a rogue pastel egg, it pecked at me like I’d just insulted its mother. Mulligan, please? And maybe the witness protection program.
My girlfriend’s pretty good at finding the Easter basket I hide for her, so I knew we had it in the bag… or basket. But just to ensure we had the egg-vantage, I briefly considered swiping a golf cart. I mean, what better way to zoom past the competition? But then I worried the groundskeeper might get teed off and chase after us. And I’ve seen how those movie golf cart chases end — spoiler: it never ends well. It’s not like I’m Hoppy Gilmore, though I suppose I could try to putt-putt past my problems. But my short game’s more ‘hopeless’ than hoppy.
We still managed to find a decent number of eggs, though I couldn’t help but be a little disappointed. When I cracked them open, I found only candy. Sure, Tootsie Rolls are great, but I was really hoping for actual hard-boiled eggs. Have you seen the price of eggs lately? Forget golden eggs — I would’ve considered a carton of Grade A’s the real jackpot. So much for my dreams of an egg salad sandwich — all I got were plastic eggs in a sand trap. The whole evening wasn’t a waste though. After the hunt, the clubhouse threw a real par-ty complete with pizza. They even had a live band, and when they launched into the Smockarena, you better believe I started to bogey. Suddenly, nobody questioned my smock. Turns out, a smock is the perfect attire for busting out nostalgic ’90s dance moves. It was practically a smock hop. I may look like a putz, but my girlfriend should just be glad I didn’t commit to my original costume idea: Nabbit from Mario. If I had, that golf cart chase would’ve been a whole different game — and not one I’d win without a lightning bolt.